now: Your date* is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear: Will you any thing with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet, There shall your master have a thousand loves, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he I know not what he shall:-God send him well!The court's a learning-place ;-and he is one▬▬ Par. What one, i'faith? Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity Par. What's pity? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think †; which never Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. * A quibble on date, which means age, and candied fruit. Par. Why under Mars? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so ? Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. * Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high ; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things t. Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. i. e. Thou wilt comprehend it. Things formed by nature for each other. SCENE II. Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys* are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 2 Lord. King. What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. The citizens of the small republic of which Sienna is the capital. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now Ber. His good remembrance, sir, Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph, As in your royal speech. King. 'Would, I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet ;-— Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out With several applications :-nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. Ber. Thank your majesty. SCENE III. Rousillon. A room in the Countess's palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for them we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. * Who have no other use of their faculties than to invent new modes of dress. To act up to your desires. |